


Blessed Souls

by CyberRose (ParanoidActivity)



Series: Written on Your Self - Spoken on Your Soul [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One-Sided Danny Pink/Clara Oswin Oswald, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, one-sided Eleventh Doctor/Amy Pond, past Eleventh Doctor/River Song - Freeform, your actions matter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParanoidActivity/pseuds/CyberRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's ears were ringing and his vision was going a black around the edges. Heart racing, he turned the faucet on and splashed water on his neck, desperately scrubbing at the square of text on his neck. It wasn’t coming off. The mark was truly there. Beautiful, feminine handwriting, written like a love bite in plain view.</p>
<p>11/Clara: Soulmate's first words are written on your body...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Beautiful...

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I ship 11/River FAR MORE than I ship 11/Clara… But this idea came into my head, in regards to the soulmate AU thing. What if there was a decision in your life that would decide if you got a soulmark or not? Like you had no idea if you’d ever get it, but one day you do something ‘right’ and you get it? Because that decision is the one that will eventually lead you to them?
> 
> It was a thought that lead to this, to Clara. I have not seen the second half of series 9 yet, but I will before continuing.
> 
> This is a part of a series of Doctor Who SoulMark stories, all intertwining with the Lord family. If you’re a multishipper like me, please check them out. If 11/Clara is the only pairing you like, stick to this one.
> 
> 9 = Timothy (Tim) Lord  
> 10 = John Lord (Named after his uncle, 12)  
> 11 = Matthew (Matt) Lord  
> 12 = Jonathan (Jon) Lord  
> Master = Marie (Missy) Lord (Married to 12, bio-mother of Clara, I am so sorry) ((Princess Marie of Edinburgh, later Queen of Romania, had the nickname "Missy."))

Matt took in a deep breath, blinking back tears as he looked down at the final paper in question. It felt as though he was betraying her, betraying his wife, betraying everything he had vowed on that day, four years ago.

But River wasn’t well and now she’d spend the rest of her life in prison.

He slowly let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, letting it warble as it pleased. Crying wasn’t completely out of the question at this stage, no point in denying that. He almost wished he had asked members of his family to come with him, rather than his friends.

His friends that were related to River.

Amy sat in the chair next to him, gently placing her hand over his where it rested on the lawyer’s desk. “We’re here for you, Matt. It’s going to be okay.” She spoke softly, as though she knew exactly what the thoughts running through his head were saying.

He pulled his hand away from hers and buried his face in both his own. The guilt was swelling in his chest and he couldn’t stop thinking about the wedding. The wedding he hadn’t exactly wanted to attend in the first place. Despite shaking a bit, his body was heated. In a flurry of motion he stood, pulling off his jacket, undoing his bowtie and rolling up his sleeves before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I promised her forever. I promised to _take care of her_.” His voice was near accusing but to who, no one was really sure. They weren’t accustomed to his face contorting with anger.

“Sometimes promises have to be broken.” Rory’s voice remained calm, “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t _have to_ sign this.” _‘It’s my fault if I go through with it.’_ Matt’s voice was strained. Oh god, how he wanted to sign it, to free himself from a life alone. He could find someone new, sure. It wouldn’t be River. But someone new, someone else who didn’t have a soul mark.

Most religious people believe that those without a soul mark have tainted souls. Are incapable of the special bond created between soul mates. The intense _love_.

The only marks his body has are scars.

Amy took his hand again and Rory moved to his other side, putting a hand on his shoulder. Oh, Matt loved them both dearly, would do anything for them, would die for them if he had to. He could feel love, even if it was selfish at times. He had married River for them. If only he had realized that sooner, he might not have ended up here.

“We aren’t going to force you, but I think you should do what your heart tells you to. It’s the only way you’ll end up happy.” Rory said softly, his tone filled with the warmth usually reserved only for his soul mate. Matt melted a little and Amy rested her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“And if you could follow your heart with a little more _haste_ , that would be well appreciated.” The lawyer, Mr. Saxon, seemed to be getting more impatient as Matt continued to delay, but the prat could wait. Not like he wasn’t getting paid for every minute of his time.

“Alright.” He gave one last squeeze to Amy’s hand before letting go. “I… I think I’m ready. I can do this…”

The Ponds (technically Williams, but not really) moved back a few steps and Amy was in Rory’s arms in an instant, curled around him. He kissed her forehead and held her close and she closed her eyes to the feeling.

With a pang of loneliness, Matt turned away from his friends and back to the desk containing the offending document. He sat down again, the buttons from his discarded jacket pressing into his back. One more deep breath, for good measure. He put both his hands on the desk.

Okay, maybe two deep breaths.

Now he had the pen in his hand, hovering above the line that was asking for the ink. His mind drifted back to River once more. Beautiful, tragic River Song. He had always been secretly glad she never took his last name.

_‘River Lord sounds ridiculous, sweetie. River Song-Lord is worse…. And River Lord-Song is just about as bad as it gets.’_

He smiled a bit at the memory and the expressions she went through naming them off. Between disgusted and amused.

“If you please.” Mr. Saxon urged him on and Matt nodded, but shot the man a glare as well.

This was it.

‘ ** _Mathew Timothy Lord_** ’

The second the ‘d’ was signed, an intense pain burned across the skin of his neck and with a shriek, he covered it and stood. The pen was left on the paper and ignoring the commotion above him, Mr. Saxon pulled the document towards him.

“Matt, what’s wrong?” Amy was in his face immediately, trying to pry his hand away from his neck, though he didn’t want to move it.

The pain was quickly subdued to more of an itchy tingle, but he continued to put pressure on it. “I would say I was stung but that was my _whole_ neck.”

Rory was at his side then, too, and managed to pull Matt’s hand away to get a better look. He was a nurse, after all.

The Ponds both went silent, eyes wide and Amy covered her mouth with one slender hand.

“What?” When neither of them replied or even let their eyes leave the spot on his neck, he covered it again. “What is it?!”

Rory stammered a bit, but gave no real answer and Amy just continued to stare at his hand with a whispered, “I didn’t think that was actually possible. I’d heard stories, but…” Before she was silent again.

With an impatient groan, he ran to the bathroom down the small hall of the office building, locking the door behind him when he realized it was a single-person restroom.

With his hand still covering his neck, he walked to the mirror. Unsurprised by his ruffled hair and puffy eyes, he lifted his hand and for one brief moment, the world froze.

‘ ** _I tried to make a soufflé, but_**

**_it was too beautiful to live._** ’

Matt was only vaguely aware of the banging on the bathroom door, calls of his name drifting around him and Rory softly calling his wife away.

His ears were ringing and his vision was going a little black around the edges. Heart racing, he turned the faucet on and splashed water on his neck, desperately scrubbing at the square of text on his neck. It wasn’t coming off. The mark was truly there. Beautiful, feminine handwriting, written like a love bite in plain view.

Head spinning, the overwhelmed man grabbed the edge of the sink and let the entirety of the day truly hit him. In seconds he was laughing so hard his face hurt and tears streamed down his cheeks. He laughed and laughed and touched his neck once more, willing it to be real, feeling like he could fly and letting the relief course through his entire being… Through his _perfectly fine_ soul.

With a fast spin and a skip to his step, he ran to the door of the bathroom and pulled it open. His friends stood against the wall, each wearing a grin to match his own and before he knew it, his arms were full of Pond.


	2. ... In Want of a Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara gets her mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The appearance of Clara and 12 (Jon)! Clara is a delight to write, by the way. :D

Clara Oswin Oswald had died and gone to Hell. She was 100% sure of this and 0% sure of what she had done to deserve it.

She had originally been grateful that the old janitor had retired. He was creepy and only took the rubbish out of her classroom twice a week. And only _once_ if she complained in the slightest.

However, the school had deemed it wise to fill the position (just temporarily, until they found someone who’d take the job on forever) with someone she knew personally, but not well.

Her biological mother’s husband.

The old man was currently in her classroom and instead of doing his job, he was complaining about her choice in men.

“Why are you so interested in P.E. anyway?” He continued, his Scottish accent thick with irritation as she took it upon herself to clean the whiteboard. If he noticed she was scrubbing far harder and longer than necessary, he didn’t stop to mention it. “There are plenty of more qualified teachers at this school. Teachers of Science or History or…”

“He’s a maths teacher!” She snapped, sulkily tossing the rag off to the far side of her desk and slamming both her hands down on the cheap wood. “And he’s a great person!”

“… _Or_ …” He continued, pointedly pushing past her outburst. She groaned. “You could find someone who isn’t a teacher at all. Someone more worthy of your time.”

Clara took a deep breath and let her head hang down a bit. “I know you’re trying to help, but you’re driving me mad. Go do your job.”

He scoffed at her and sat on one of the desks, crossing his arms. She glowered. Oh yes, there was no doubt that he and her mother were ‘soul mates’, that’s for damn sure. “You’re not my supervisor.”

She let out an airy laugh and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jon Lord only smiled back at her, as smug as he could be in custodial staff uniform. “What are they going to do, fire me?"

The brunette rolled her eyes and pulled her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jon.”

“We’re not done talking about this, young missy!”

She cringed at the play on words and walked away, a single wave of her hand as a reply. She could hear his laughter behind her.

What would a 57 year old, soul bonded, Scottish man know about what’s best for her love life anyway? She had no mark and no desire to date at the moment. Danny was just… modest flirting, really. And the students didn’t help with their little _rumors_ , either.

Still, what’s truth and what’s rumor was none of his business.

Or her damn mother’s.

-0-0-0-

**_‘Jane Austen –_ **

**_'_ ** __It is a truth universally acknowledged_ _ _, that a bondless man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.'_

Clara stared at the words she had written on the whiteboard, while Calvin continued to read a passage behind her. Most of the reading was done outside the class, but her mind felt cluttered today, distracted, and her pupils were surprisingly ahead of schedule. So, student by student they read chapter 18 out loud, monotone and sounding as uninterested as she currently was in the subject.

_Universally acknowledged… want of a wife…_

She resisted the urge to sigh as Calvin stopped reading. “Robin, you next.”

The dark skinned girl behind Calvin made a small noise off irritation, but began to read anyhow.

Clara turned to face her students, crossing her arms and putting on a small smile. _‘Can’t even find it in me to listen to them right now. Fantastic teacher I am.’_ To be fair though, these children sounded like they were narrating a documentary on the mineral contents of sand, not one of the most successful romance novels of all time.

And for some damn reason she was absolutely, dreadfully distracted.

“He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind; Charlotte tried to console her. ‘ _I dare say you will find him very agreeable_.’"

Clara let out a shrill cry, dropping the marker she was holding and grabbing her neck. It certainly caused her students to wake up, all of them calling out to her with ‘Miss?’ and ‘Are you okay?’s. Still holding her neck she smiled tightly at them and nodded. “Yes, just got bit, I think. No problem.” Her last sentence was thankfully cut off by the loud chime of the bell. “Right! That’s it. Well done Robin, get going. See you all in a couple of days, thank you very much!” The words flowed out of her mouth in a rush as she inched her way towards the door.

The initial pain had gone and she was left with a small tingle. But it was a big area that had been affected… definitely not a bug bite, but she had no idea what it could be. Oh, she **really** hoped it wasn’t a spider.

“Miss, what about our homework?” Calvin called out, just as she reached the door.

The teacher whirled around to face the class (who were all packing their bags now), shaking her head a bit. “Who _asks_ for homework?!” And in an instant she was racing through the hallways, aiming for the more private bathroom in the teachers’ lounge to examine her neck.

Before she could get far, though, she nearly ran into the tall form of a student… Tobias Budge. “Miss Oswald.” He sounded like he wanted to have a conversation that, still holding her neck, Clara did not want to have at the moment.

“Hello Tobias, can’t really stop.”

He didn’t listen. “I'm in the football team against Durrants on Thursday. Sorry, but can I go early from English, Thursday afternoon?”

“Tobias, you can do whatever you want.” She walked past him, her freedom short-lived as she walked straight into the Headmaster Armitage.  

“Ah, Clara, can I grab a quick word?”

While her first reaction was to just walk past him, she knew better. Snubbing your boss was never an option when you barely had your job to begin with. “Actually, I… er… yes.” Of course she did.

The stout man smiled at her and went on rambling about the fete that was due to happen on Saturday. Her mind was entirely on her neck, where the tips of her fingers could feel the slightly raised edges of something on her skin. Did she have a rash? Was she having an allergic reaction to a spider bite? Dear lord, what if it was serious?! There are spiders that can kill you with a bite or make you lose bits of your body… Her stomach turned as Armitage continued to ramble on about… no wait, he was looking at her expectantly now. What had he said? Something about a raffle or…?

“Great.” She nodded and he looked horrified. Wait, did he say hospital? … “Uh, no, awful. That’s terrible. Awful. I hope it, um… I’ll do anything.” He blinked at her, but she still refused to explain, the hall was teeming with students and the last thing she needed was the rhyme going on about her and Danny to turn to a rhyme about whatever nasty ailment was covering the right side of her neck. “Anything. Okay, bye.” She walked briskly around him, ignoring his confused look.

She was finally in the teacher’s lounge and steps away from their private restroom when another voice called to her from her side. “Clara, I was thinking we could-”

“Not now Danny!” Just a tiny bit closer. Oh, but that was incredibly rude to someone who had been so sweet to her. She sighed and turned a bit towards him, giving him an apologetic smile. “I just have to look at something real quick, if you don’t mind. Sorry, didn’t mean to…”

“What’s wrong with your neck?” The maths teacher was by her side in an instant, hand gently wrapped around her wrist, pulling.

Clara jerked away from him, positive that whatever was on her neck (she was sure she could feel bumps! What if it was hives? Hopefully she wasn’t seriously allergic to whatever it was…) that she didn’t want Danny to see it. “I’m going to go find out, just now. I’ll find you later to tell you, okay? Goodbye Danny.”

Despite his protests, she closed the door to the bathroom and locked it, finally releasing her neck. With a deep breath, she walked to the mirror, expecting some medical horror straight out of a bad google search.

She was greeted, instead, by words.

The teacher blinked once, shook her head to clear it, then blinked twice. When the words were still there, she turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water.

No, she was not seeing things, it was definitely there.

She used the hospital-smelling hand soap to scrub at it, to no avail. It was there. Those were words, they were words and they were… there. So very… _there_.

Clara took several deep breaths, eyes wide and staring at the single line of text that now adorned her like a terrible half-necklace.

How many times, as a child, had she dreamed of this moment? How many sleepless nights as a teenager, believing that they would still come? By the time she had hit 18, there was dread in the pit of her belly. And in her twenties, she had known that she would never receive those precious words written on herself. Well, not known. Believed.

Clara had told herself that it hadn’t mattered, but it had.

The relatives of her adoptive family had looked on at her with mild-disdain. That their name had been _tainted_ , perhaps, by someone whose soul was unworthy of a soul mate.

Clara took a deep breath and closed her eyes, a single tear falling down her pink cheek. Nothing was worse than the absolute pity her parents had given her though. They’d try to set her up with others that had no soul mark, telling her to make the best of her life. She was too old now, she would never possess the mark. “ _Oh sweetheart, please. Don’t keep waiting, you’ll only spend your life alone_.”

She had told herself that she didn’t care if she didn’t have a soul mate. God, she had wanted to believe it so desperately, she had tried convincing herself that she could be happy with someone else. Someone she wasn’t destined to be with, but they could make their own lives out anyway. Someone like Danny.

Her heart sunk and she opened her eyes again, forcing herself to face her reflection.

Danny still had to be told.

\--

He wasn’t outside of the bathroom when she emerged.

Making her way through the crowds again, Clara managed to avoid getting caught in another conversation for most of the way. Her neck was not covered now, though the small words seemed to go unnoticed by the masses of students and teachers in the halls.

“Miss Oswald, Katie Sharps says I pulled her hair in Biology.”

Clara resisted the urge to cringe as her journey was interrupted again. This time, she continued walking though, the student following along behind her. “Courtney, you are big enough to look after yourself. Next class, jog on, I need to talk to Mister Pink.”

Courtney rolled her eyes, mumbling just loud enough for Clara to hear, “Ozzie loves the Squaddie.”

Clara continued walking, the familiar whispered rhyme now making her stomach churn with misplaced self-loathing.

She arrived in Danny’s classroom just as he finished packing his bag and her mind went completely blank. The brunette stood just inside of his doorway, right hand on the door frame, when he noticed her.

His face lit up and her heart broke for him. “Miss Oswald! How’s your neck?” His words seemed to taper off as he examined her expression. Noticing that she was no longer covering it, he walked closer to look.

The reaction was immediate. “Oh.” Danny looked away and ran a hand over the side of his face as he cleared his throat. Clara wondered if he wanted to cry. His eyebrows were knit together, nose was flaring and his lips were pressed tightly together in a frown.

She swallowed tightly and said softly, “I’m so sorry, Danny. It’s just come out of nowhere, I don’t know what to… I don’t know what to say…”

He turned to face her again and she could see the tears in his eyes. “I thought we… Clara, I…” She didn’t reply, couldn’t reply and he took this as a sign to approach her. His hand was now on her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn’t known fell from her eye and when she breathed in, she felt her diaphragm tremble with it. “You could ignore it, Clara. People do that, you know? We could still… be together.”

Hopeful. That’s how Danny sounded in that moment and the sick feeling doubled inside her. “Danny…” She shook her head a little, not sure what to say. Should she comfort him or would that make matters worse? Possibly say something cold and devastating, like she had never truly cared for him, had only considered him a prospect to appease her family, but that wasn’t like her. Not at all. Probably wouldn’t help either, he’d see right through her. Even if it was the truth, she could never be so unsympathetic.

Didn’t matter though, he seemed to have read her mind by watching her expression. The hope had vanished from his eyes and now when he spoke, desperation strained his voice. “But I love you.”

“I know.” She set her hand over his, where it still rested on her cheek. “And I’m sorry. I can’t ignore this, Danny. Not now.”

He pulled away, covering his face with both hands and turned from her. Clara took this moment to walk away, giving Danny Pink the space he needed to understand.

She hadn’t loved him, but she cared for him. He was sweet and understanding and precious. She couldn’t bring herself to pretend that they could work, that she wouldn’t always regret ignoring the call of the bond that she had given up hope of having in her grasp. Her adoptive father would think she was _mad_ for such a thing.

Not to mention her biological mother Missy, who would probably have someone ‘take care of’ Danny or something as equally appalling. Some people got tattoos to cover their soul marks, when they had already fallen in love with someone else. But hers was on her bloody neck, for God’s sake! You can’t just hide something like that, however small. And Danny couldn’t just expect her to give up everything, something that she had always desperately desired.

Tears were flowing now and she could hardly breathe as she slammed the door to her car, locking herself in and curling around the steering wheel. Never had she been so grateful to have no last-period class, she was no doubt a mess by now.

Today should have been the happiest day of her life.

She shook her head at no one, her fingers lightly touching the mark on her neck.

The words appeared behind her lids, dancing in a comical, almost comforting way. She thought of her adoptive mother, then, and how happy should would have been to see them.

**_‘Let me do the cooking?’_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Let me do the cooking' was originally the title for this story.... I really really appreciate comments, but thanks for reading either way! :) 
> 
> Next chapter will be up after I get another chapter of Tea in Barcelona up. woot!

**Author's Note:**

> Clara's intro chapter is a bit longer than this, so I'll be posting that in a few days. 
> 
> Thoughts/comments/suggestions are always welcome.


End file.
